An Evening At The Proms

Photo by Amanda Slater via Flickr (licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0)

On the cusp of one of the many heatwaves this summer, I stood heartbroken at the third door of the Royal Albert Hall. Not only because I had committed my Saturday evening to the BBC’s Proms here, but for having told everyone of my intentions.  

'There’s no way they’re going to let you in looking like that', a friend had said to me before I left, looking my mini skirt and knee-high, platform Dr Martens up and down. Apparently, Proms, an annual season of daily orchestral classical music concerts, is understood to be a rather up-tight event, meant only for the aristocratic elite with their powdered wigs and theatre binoculars, or my grandmother. As is its primary location - The Royal Albert Hall, a concert hall in South Kensington, which is teasingly referred to by its acronym, the “RAH”, by my boyfriend for its reputation as a home for the upper-middle class.

Thankfully, however, the door attendants were more than kind. Although my seat was booked for the Thursday just gone and, according to the concierge, tickets had sold out to a long queue of eager ‘promenaders’ who were far more prepared than I, they managed to sneak me in during the interval. What I encountered were long stretching corridors, bars where you can pre-order your Cintila White, and framed photos of legends who graced these halls before us - The Beatles, Eric Clapton, Beyoncé.

For those who aren’t familiar with Proms, as it happens many young people are not, it is an eight week event consisting of 86 concerts. Hosted by the BBC, Proms takes place not just in London but also in Belfast, Bradford, Bristol, Gateshead and Sunderland throughout the summer season. You can also stream it on BBC iPlayer, should that be your want. 

Promenade concerts, or Proms for short, are a tradition from the mid-eighteenth century in which people would listen to an orchestral performance as they strolled along London’s “pleasure gardens”. This was a place to mingle amongst glamour and debauchery. Unfortunately, the reputation of today’s indoor Proms is rather removed from these roots. 

Musical impresario, Robert Newman, when organising the Proms in which the event I attended today originated (having been taken-up by the BBC in 1927), wrote that this informal atmosphere for concert hall music was devised to ‘train the public by easy stages’. Such is the impression we may have of it today - of classical music expecting, or conditioning, a coveted, formal, social prowess.

However, the heritage of the Proms, frankly, means very little to me. Yet, its longevity is a good reason to pay attention. While I sympathise with this trepidation of exclusivity, the bobbing, whooping crowd, utterly thrilled and charmed by the perfect sounds of this writhing orchestra, is a joy to behold. 

I attended the National Youth Orchestra’s rendition of Guztav Holst’s The Planets - part of a collection featured as the ‘relaxed proms’. What I had missed in the first half, regrettably, was John William’s Star Wars composition and Caroline Shaw’s The Observatory. William’s classic score for the adventures of Jedi heroes accompanied the childhoods of many. Its unforgettable themes then are an homage to the familiar. Following the cosmological theme of the evening, Shaw’s work, ‘offers a new way of looking at the universe’.

There’s something about an orchestral performance, the size and the weight of its music - further enhanced when seen live - that pushes you to perk up a little, to be moved outside of yourself into a beautiful collective. The sound of instruments tuning into a harmony is enough to spike your hair and your heartbeat. 

So too was it a pleasure to see teenagers, not much younger than me, fully committed. Suitably, these musicians from the UK, ranging in age between fifteen to eighteen, were engrossed. This isn’t something you see very often beyond the realm of the digital world. As a nineteen-year-old colleague of mine commented when I told him of their startling talent: 'imagine how much work that would take'.

The Planets, according to conductor Dalia Stasevska, was something that the National Youth Orchestra wanted to play. Their ‘sheer joy [...] there’s something so pure about that,’ says Stasevska, ‘when you have an almost childlike enthusiasm and curiosity there is no end to what you can achieve’. Today, this ‘childlike enthusiasm’ is hard to come by, our youths spent staving off chronic loneliness and debt, pessimistic about the reality of what we are to inherit.

But, as I expected after observing the heady hum of crowds engaging in their post-interval bar-dash, this orchestra of young talents unflinchingly held its own amongst the greats. In the midst of glittering strings, brass, and sheet music, Holst’s take on astrological symbolism engendered a splitting applause. 

Of course, applause meant for the National Youth Orchestra’s unwavering talent, but also for the pertinency of this symphony. Written during the First World War, The Planets speaks to a period of anxiety, to people living on the edge of catastrophe. The rousing and brutally domineering march of ‘Mars’ followed by the soothing perseverance and simultaneous enthusiasm of ‘Jupiter’ and the release of ‘Saturn’ is a passage that many of us long for, and were gratefully endowed.

Culturally, the BBC Proms is aligned with the likes of the English National Ballet, performing ‘R:EVOLUTION’ in London this October, and Shakespeare’s Othello, currently being performed at the Theatre Royal Haymarket. Both are beautiful, I am sure, but I would only know after spending at least £15 and £25 on tickets respectively. To go to Proms costs only £9 when booking online.

£6 (or more), the price of a pint of Stella or a chicken and pesto Pret wrap, for a student like me, is a crucial difference. Moreover, leaving the concert hall after two hours, rather than the pub, I had a much cheaper night out than usual and I did not feel absolutely rubbish the next morning. In fact, I left the Royal Albert Hall feeling deeply satisfied. 

A little superficially, what stood out to me, based on reductive and arbitrary rules about self-presentation, was that a handful of performers had their hair dyed - this is an institution based on merit, I thought. One that is trained, focused, and dedicated. Proms, while thought of as an antiquated tradition, is, in fact, here for the young; engaging in the modern mind.

As I watched Proms-goers filing out from the auditorium under gilded lights, I felt a sense of optimistic relief. I was reminded that passion and talent still exists. Of course it does, but, at times, this can feel so inaccessible. 

I’m not saying this is where you should spend your Saturday night, but, in need of a pick me up after a grueling Thursday shift, or simply from daily monotony, how about an evening at Proms?

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Edited by Alyssa Erulin, London Editor